The water, lapping, lapping in the reeds!
What stood beside it in the waning moon
And gave to it the sigh and sob of tears?
The sound of tears that nevermore is still-
The water lapping, lapping in the reeds.

Was it a shadow there?
Or but the thin mist shifting in the wind
Beneath the paling moon
Of night's mid-noon?
Only the mist that like a thin white wraith,
Sees and unseen-
A white wan wraith
Beside the matted rushes of the pool
That lies below the hill?
Lies like a thing of ill,
Its slow dark waters lapping in the reeds,
With sigh and sob of tears-
With sound of tears that never can be still,
The water lapping, lapping in the reeds.